


Additive

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Patron Minette Week 2013 (1-7 Dec) [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I had a request for Enjolras being attracted to Grantaire whilst he’s dating someone else. And, well, seeing a certain kink meme prompt and given that it’s Patron Minette week, I couldn’t not bring in some Montparnasse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Additive

Enjolras looked up from his work as Bahorel came into the Musain’s backroom, and he smiled a little as he met the other man’s eyes, greeting him with a nod. Prouvaire followed him, and then…

A newcomer. Enjolras’ lips parted as he regarded him, took in dark, unruly hair barely combed about his head, with a paintbrush and an unlit cigarette tangled visibly in the curls, and then his face, the shadows under his eyes and the shadow covering his jaw. His stubble was thick and he was far from clean-shaven, but somehow the scruff suited him. His eyes were a deep green, and Enjolras felt himself captivated at the sight of them.

He sat down with Bahorel and Prouvaire, laughing and joking as they drank. “Who’s that?” Enjolras asked when Combeferre settled next to him, and he looked up from his book. 

"Oh, him? That’s Grantaire. A friend of Bahorel’s, I think they box together? He was with Bahorel when he got into that fight the other day, defending Courfeyrac’s honour." Courfeyrac’s honour had been slighted when a man had punched him for kissing Marius, knowing that Marius was dating Cosette. He had refused to believe that Courfeyrac was  _also_  dating Cosette, and Bahorel had thrown Courfeyrac back before he could “hurt that pretty face of his”, according to Bahorel’s tale, and so that he could “get all the good bar fight stories to himself, the fucker”, according to Courfeyrac.

”Is he queer?” Combeferre blinked at him.

"He’s bisexual, I think." He said, regarding Enjolras with raised eyebrows. "You’re not often one to go off looks alone."

"His looks are particular." Enjolras said with a shrug. "Do you know his type?"

"No idea." Combeferre shrugged, and Enjolras hummed. He was subtle in glancing at him now and then, and it was towards the end of the evening he introduced himself.

"Hi there. My name’s Enjolras." Grantaire looked up at him, and his grin was bright.

"Ah,  _un ange,_ so I hear. What are you doing amongst us mere mortals?” 

"I don’t like being called Enj." The blond said firmly, and Grantaire laughed, taking his hand to shake. 

"Of course you don’t. Grantaire. I don’t mind being called R, should it suit you."

"What about  _grand_?” The brunet snorted.

"How presumptuous of you." He said, and Enjolras grinned, ready to ask if Grantaire would mind being bought a drink, but then the door opened, and another unfamiliar being entered. "Montparnasse!" Grantaire said, and he toasted the other man with what remained in his glass.

He was dark-haired, the locks straight and silken where they rested around his head, and he was pretty, his lips red, his eyes bright and large with liner accentuating them. He had good structure to his bones, and when he moved forwards it was with the grace of a dancer, a smile playing on his lips as he settled firmly in Grantaire’s lap. 

"Good evening." His voice was low, delicate and decadently toned, and then he leaned, pressing a slow kiss to the side of Grantaire’s mouth, and Enjolras swallowed, biting back the question that had been on his tongue. "Hallo! You’re a delight to the eye, and you’re blond. You must be Enjolras." Montparnasse purred, and he offered a slender hand to the other man.

Enjolras took it, slowly shaking the other’s hand and feeling how cold Montparnasse’s were. “You’re freezing. It’s November, maybe you should wear gloves.” He managed to say, and Montparnasse laughed.

"Gloves? Sounds a travesty to one’s style." He commented in a dry tone, and Grantaire shook his head, but the smile on his face was fond.

"Montparnasse fancies himself a trend setter. Pneumonia is very vogue." He said, and Montparnasse’s laugh was a beautiful thing, far prettier than Enjolras’ own quiet chuckles. He opened his mouth to protest, but Grantaire adjusted his position to stroke down from Montparnasse’s lower back and to grasp at his arse instead, and Montparnasse’s marble countenance flushed scarlet.

They were a perfect match to one another, it seemed, Montparnasse neat and particular and happily seduced, where Grantaire seduced dryly, was mussed and tousled, and as vague as could be. The taller man plucked the cigarette Enjolras had spied earlier from Grantaire’s hair and put it to his lips, lighting it with a black lighter embossed with skull after skull.

Montparnasse took a drag from the butt of the fag, and when he leaned, Grantaire took the slow exhale of smoke into his own mouth before turning away and exhaling a ring into the air. Enjolras swayed without realizing it, enchanted by the action between the two, but then Combeferre was at his shoulder, catching him from his dreamy state.

"You and I have a poster campaign to organize, I do believe." He said, and Enjolras nodded, letting Combeferre pull him back. 

—-

Enjolras’ attraction did not go away. In fact, as weeks went by and Montparnasse and Grantaire both came to the Musain to laugh and drink and debate, it just got worse. Montparnasse would compliment Grantaire’s arguments, languid where the brunet was passionate, and yet Grantaire’s arguments were fuelled, it would seem, by utter nihilism - Montparnasse, on the other hand, seemed to believe, after a fashion, in social reform, but moreover, poetry, art, and soul.

And Montparnasse brought friends too, a big guy called Gueulemer who slow but playful, and who Bahorel and Prouvaire took to immediately, playing dice or cards or backgammon with him long into the night, and usually losing at it, and another, sharper man, Babet, who took well to teasing Prouvaire until his cheeks were a bright scarlet and he was wringing his hands as he squirmed.

It was Claquesous who was the most interesting, with his sobriquet and his refusal to give a real name. He had long, red hair that hung straight around his face, his fringe straight and usually entirely obscuring his eyes. 

He was a quiet man who spoke little, and he came to many of their meetings, but Enjolras found himself not noticing him despite his lanky limbs and excessive height, for this man had a way of concealing himself even in the most open of rooms, it would seem. 

Most of all, Enjolras was captivated by Grantaire and Montparnasse. Montparnasse always took Grantaire’s lap instead of a seat, straddling his thighs or perching on his knees like a doll, and he fit there perfectly, with Grantaire’s hands on his back, steadying him.

Grantaire was an artist, and Enjolras found himself wondering if Montparnasse posed for him, if Grantaire drew sketches of Montparnasse’s beautiful face and no doubt prettier body, if Grantaire painted him sprawled out on the bed with flowers scattered around him, because Montparnasse was dramatic and knew more florists that Enjolras knew existed.

Enjolras felt jealousy, but made no act to make it obvious - Grantaire and Montparnasse were both free men, and to stand in the way of their happiness would have been twenty kinds of deplorable.

One evening, after his classes, he was slow in wandering home, thinking about Grantaire. But no, it was pointless, and besides, at least he and Montparnasse were compatible. When Enjolras and Grantaire argued, it was obvious they disagreed on virtually everything. And while Montparnasse had different beliefs, he didn’t argue so much with his lover but merely compliment his arguments, and vice versa.

Enjolras sighed, pushing the door open and entering the apartment he shared with Combeferre, but froze still in the doorway, his eyes wide. In the living room, on his knees with his mouth around Claquesous’ fingers, Combeferre was kneeling, letting out desperate little whimpers as he ran his tongue over the redhead’s digits.

Claquesous wore a black masquerade mask over his eyes, pretty and carved of expensive looking wood, but he looked contemplative as he scissored his fingers against Combeferre’s lips, stretching the skin of them.

"God." Enjolras said, and both of them froze, glancing to him with wide eyes. 

"Oh, fuck, Enjolras, I thought you had a thing on Wednesday afternoons, shit-" Combeferre began to apologize, but Enjolras was already stumbling backwards, closing the door behind him and making his way back into town.

He put his head in his hands as he walked blindly to the Corinthe, trying to put the image of one of his best friends worshipping a man’s fingers with his mouth, but the picture was stubbornly keeping put. He stepped into the bar, and was immediately taken with a slim hand on his waist as Montparnasse pulled him close.

Enjolras stumbled on the old establishment’s uneven floor, and ended with his chest against the other man’s, his mouth barely an inch from Montparnasse’s pretty one. “Enjolras.” He purred, and Enjolras wrenched himself back, mumbling an apology as he tried to stand up straight. “Fancy seeing you here! I was going to leave this for another day, but… Come, come outside with me a moment, would you?”

Enjolras did, because he was flushing and out in the alley the blush would be less visible on his cheeks, but he wasn’t expecting Montparnasse to crowd him back against the dirty brick of the wall, his hands either side of Enjolras’ head as he pressed his body to the other man’s. “You, my dear, are incredibly pretty, d’you know that?” 

Enjolras choked out a noise as Montparnasse thumbed over his lips, the sensation surprisingly pleasant on the sensitive skin. “What are you  _doing_? Grantaire-“

"Ah ah ah, quiet for a second, you charming orator, you." And Montparnasse’s tone was intoxicating, smooth and low, and Enjolras closed his mouth with a click. "This actually has an amount to do with Grantaire. I would  _really_  love to invite you into our bed.”

Enjolras stared at Montparnasse, blue eyes wide and shocked and baffled. “What?”

"I was thinking sex and then a nice little political argument over dinner. In that order." 

"What?  _What_?” Montparnasse blinked at him, puzzled.

"Why  _ever_  are you so surprised? You’re very attractive, after all, and Grantaire and I so love to argue with you, and he thinks you’re pretty, and I  _certainly_  find you rather bewitching…” Montparnasse’s hand was on his thigh, and somehow Enjolras was  _completely_  comfortable with that.

"But- but-" Enjolras did not know how to respond. He did not know what to say. He had no idea at all. And so, remembering some long-given advice from Courfeyrac about the benefits of impulse, he said, "Yes, alright."

Montparnasse led him through the streets, home to an apartment that was cosy and warm, and Enjolras looked around, taking in the plush furniture and the blankets and cushions of expensive fabrics and incredible design, the vase of roses on the window sill (all Montparnasse’s), and the paintings on the wall, the vanilla-scented candles on the coffee table, the books about recovering from alcoholism and addiction, and the paints scattered on the side (all Grantaire’s). 

"Now, my plan is for both of us to be  _quite_ naked and sprawl on the bed together, so then when he comes home he’ll be greeted with the both of us.” Montparnasse said, leading Enjolras into the bedroom. Their bed was a glamourous thing, the mattress thick, the duvet heavy and warm, and with a headboard and footboard that looked to be of a heavy wood.

Montparnasse began to remove his clothes immediately, a black jacket thrown over the back of a chair, followed by a purple shirt and then an undershirt. “I’ve got condoms! And lubricant, oh, and we’ve got toys, I mean, if you-“ 

Enjolras was staring as Montparnasse wittered on, enchanted by the white expanse of the other man’s back. He pulled his own clothes, and when he was naked he stepped up to Montparnasse, comparing his own body to the other man’s.

Montparnasse had more muscle on him, but he was still slim, and while his waist was thinner than Enjolras’, Enjolras’ hips were wider and more effeminate. Both of them carried barely any hair that was not on the tops of their heads, but the hair on Montparnasse’s legs stood out more simply by virtue of its dark colouring. And Montparnasse was  _taller_  than Enjolras, if only by a few inches, and Enjolras found himself looking up a little to meet Montparnasse’s eyes.

"Come." Montparnasse murmured, and as he led Enjolras back towards the bed, the blond noticed the black nail polish on Montparnasse’s toe nails. Montparnasse captured Enjolras’ lips with his own, and God, it was like kissing his double in more ways than one - Montparnasse had somehow developed a strategy of mimicking every movement of Enjolras’ tongue and his lips, and it felt as if he were kissing a  _mirror_  until Montparnasse chuckled dirtily and turned them over, pressing his thigh between Enjolras’ legs where he straddled the other man.

Enjolras ground up against it, letting out choked noises that were muffled by Montparnasse’s deft tongue, and he arched under Montparnasse’s slim form, eager for more of the attention. He did not hear the front door open and close, and nor did he hear the footsteps in the hall.

He did hear the “Oh,  _God_ _.”_ from the doorway as Grantaire dropped his bag onto the ground, staring at both of them, frozen for a moment, before he began to tear desperately at his shirt even as he kicked off his shoes.  

Grantaire grabbed Montparnasse by the hair and pulled him roughly back, and Enjolras couldn’t help but stare, his mouth going dry, as Grantaire leaned to bite hard at Montparnasse’s neck and mark the pale skin there. “I’m not enough for you, huh?” He asked, teasing, and Montparnasse reached back to put a hand on his neck, leaning against Grantaire.

"He’s so pretty, my dear, I thought we could tear him apart together." Montparnasse purred, and Enjolras’ cheeks flushed. Here he was, red and naked with his cock hard between his legs, and the way the two of them were looking at him, hungrily, was making him shiver. 

And then both of them were on him, Montparnasse roughly grabbing Enjolras and bundling him into his bony lap as Grantaire caught his lips in a harsh kiss, his stubble scratching gloriously across Enjolras’ smooth skin before he dipped lower, lavishing bites and sucking marks across Enjolras’ chest.

"He’s always been a possessive one." Montparnasse purred in Enjolras’ ear as Grantaire went to work, and Enjolras cried out as Montparnasse put his hand on his cock, stroking Enjolras with confidence and a clever hand. "Oh, the  _things_  we are going to do to you, you darling little creature.” Grantaire dragged his tongue over Enjolras’ sternum, and the blond whined, his hips bucking up and into Montparnasse’s hand. “We’re going to split you apart, leave you gasping, filled and covered with our come, make you  _scream_.” Montparnasse went on, thumbing over the head of Enjolras’ cock, and he whimpered.

Grantaire was dipping lower now, his hands stroking over Enjolras’ thighs, and he dragged his tongue down the other’s navel and yet lower, but God, he avoided Montparnasse’s hand and Enjolras’ cock, dipping yet lower.

Enjolras let out a noise that was almost a scream as Grantaire dragged his tongue over his entrance, rolling his hips down against the other man’s mouth. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a slut here, eh, R?”

"Sounds about right." Grantaire rasped, and Enjolras whined for the lack of a tongue on him, so Grantaire replaced it, circling the other’s rim with a wet tongue.

"Look at you, sweet little angel of a thing." Montparnasse said, and he leaned to bite and drag his tongue across Enjolras’ collarbones as Grantaire fucked his tongue into him, and God, it was wet, and it was hot, and he was going to cry. He was going to cry, and he couldn’t  _not_ , and when he let out the first tiny sob, he could hear Montparnasse’ s laugh against his neck. “Oh, Grantaire, he’s  _crying_. Fuck that tongue of yours deeper.”

Enjolras cried out as Grantaire rolled his tongue, and it was wet, hot, perfect, and Montparnasse’s hand was running too fast on his cock, and Enjolras was left sobbing as he came, squirming between the both of them. When Grantaire drew back, it was with a smirk, and Montparnasse slid a hand over Enjolras’ stomach, nipping again at Enjolras’ neck.

"And we’ve not even fucked you yet, you darling little thing."

"Let the kid have a break." Grantaire said, pressing a kiss to Enjolras’ thigh. "Then we’ll break  _him_.” Grantaire murmured, and he looked up, his eyes meeting Enjolras’, and the blond let out a little mewl of noise, grasping at Montparnasse’s thighs. “Now, what was your stance on the national health service again?”

"Needs extensive reform." Enjolras said, and as he spoke he slowly, carefully, ground his arse back against Montparnasse’s cock, drawing a choked sound from Montparnasse’s mouth.

"Yeah? Go on." This, Enjolras thought as he pressed himself down against Montparnasse, was the start of something beautiful.


End file.
